


Eclipse

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-08-31
Updated: 2001-08-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:26:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11334750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Alex was wrong





	Eclipse

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Eclipse by tyen

I'm feeling melancholy today, so I figured I'd try to drag everyone else too. :) j/k Saw all the other great Existence fic and decided to add my 2 cents.  
First, prolly needs a tad of explanation. This was written for the 'Fight to the Finish' challenge on M/K Fight Club Tour: we were asked to come up with a 'last' scene for M/K -sort of a what might happen in Existence. It was mostly guessing, postulating, and just plain making it up since the season ender hadn't aired yet. I went with spoiler!news, one glimpse at the teaser commercial, and my imagination.   
It is a death fic, so be warned.  
Needless to say, it doesn't follow what happened in canon, but I think we're all still in denial about that anyway...

TITLE: Eclipse  
AUTHOR: tyen  
RATING: R or NC-17 for violence, references to m/m sex and language  
CATEGORY: M/K, Existence DEATH FIC!! Be warned... challenge fic for Fight Club "Fight to the Finish"   
SUMMARY: Alex was wrong  
SPOILERS: It's all speculation on the 'final' ep. Sort of a 'pick and choose' what was rumor and what I made up.  
FEEDBACK: Sure, fire away.   
NOTES: Written on the fly and at the last minute before deadline, so not really beta'd. Haven't the heart to change anything now. Thanks to Tyler for the kind invitation, keen use of spatula and cattle prod, plus all the wonderful feedback. It makes me smile. :)

* * *

Eclipse  
by tyen

\----------------------------

I knew from the moment I looked into his flushed face, those hazel eyes wide with panic and surprise, that I was wrong.

That strong hand gripping the lapel of my too-expensive Italian leather jacket tugging for something very close to terror, and I felt my blood ice. My mind switched into overdrive, calculating my decisions and wondering how the hell I could have not seen it, and just what the fuck I was supposed to do now.

His lips peeled back into a sneer, the panic fluttering between the shock of my hard-on pressing like steel into his thigh and my prosthetic digging into his shoulder most painfully. 

There was nothing here but a totally out of control situation.

Shit. I should have never let him get my guard down.

We had tumbled to the floor just after he'd thrown his first punch, all my instincts flying just south of my naval. I should have seen this for what it was: a man enraged at my mere presence, someone so full of emptiness he should have rang hollow when I landed that breath-stealing jab to his gut. And I thought his whole 'I have no idea where you're going with this, but I'll play along anyway' was part of the act. Mulder was always so damn full of surprises.

I'd taken Doggett's look of warning as he took his quiet leave from the room as some sort of marker for the moment: he'd tried pulling whatever truth he could from the situation. Good luck, John Boy. This man is as clueless as the rest of you.

I had baited Spooky for a few minutes, letting him put up his flimsy appearance of annoyance with me, before closing in for the kill. That flat monotone droning on about supposed lies I'd held from them, and the possibilities of the truth. All the future's hope held in the tiny, wrinkled hand of the baby about to be born downstairs: he was tossing out all the signs I had hoped to see.

Guilt. Fear. Acceptance.

Then I'd spoken to him in that tone of voice I know strikes him deep, piercing through the exhaustion and weight of a world held on his shoulders. I was on his side. On their side. Right where I'd always been. His flash of disbelief I had expected - but then the look of realization crept through those dead eyes and I was so wrong to believe he had finally seen me.

He'd only seen through me.

I'd meant my movement as a beacon of hope, pressing my lips to his stubbled cheek as a sign of allegiance, but his flinch at my touch was something I'd overlooked. My lingering so close had only dulled my instincts under the power of Mulderscent, washing over me in a heady rush of lust. Our bodies so close, bringing back memories I'd hoped to forget: the hot rush of his words in my ear as his hand worked my cock, the feel of his own hot and heavy in my hand. The glide of his soft skin against me, glowing with sweat and arousal. The complete look of abandon and ecstasy etched into his features as he would come, his cry of release pushing me over the edge. The tight, searing pleasure of my cock buried in him -- the feel of his orgasm exploding deep inside me as he thrust fast and hard to my core. All the feeling and emotion of our encounters flashed in my head like a cheap X-Rated catalogue of something we had once shared.

But now, I knew he wasn't seeing the same thing. His explosion of violence wasn't some foray into our past -- it was proof he remembered nothing. All I was now, was an unwelcome visitor in his personal space and no more.

He reached out with a flailing limb toward the gun that had been knocked free in our tussle, his fingertips barely within reach. I had barely a breath to react as he palmed the pistol and scrambled backward, my hand brushing his denimed crotch as he retreated. 

No answering hardness. Nothing.

We drew on each other with matching speed, the bellow from the doorway no doubt belonging to Skinner. Another gun muzzle aimed at my head from the doorway but my eyes were locked on Mulder's as the A.D. inched into the room and demanded to know what the -hell- was going on up here.

I tossed him a glance and saw my chance as he engaged Mulder in a plea of control, spouting nonsense about vendetta and revenge on someone barely worth the effort. He couldn't know -- he wouldn't have ever seen what had once been between us. And he couldn't see what wasn't there now.

Mulder's aim faltered as he replied to the A.D. and I lunged for him, dropping my weapon for something more... lethal.

Skinner jumped forward at my movement, no doubt struggling with his instinct to protect what he saw as a defenseless Agent under his command...

He didn't fire until I had the stiletto lodged firmly into Mulder's neck, three quick shots ringing out into the chaos of the dusty, forgotten rooms of the quiet house.

I didn't remember falling, but the explosion of pain was immediate. Bright and shocking, sucking against lungs too stunned to react, I could only watch as the body on the carpet so near to me writhed and flopped like a speared fish.

Not even the loud commotion at the doorway could steal my attention as the corpse stilled, fresh green froth spilling over the musty carpet. A frenzied exchange of shouts and heated words, the faraway wail of Scully in labor: my breath finally returned but the oxygen didn't feel as rich as it should. And I felt nothing.

Empty and quiet, and this is how I always knew it would end. Violent. Quick. At Their expense, and the price was as high as always.

Fingertips brushed my face, a voice calling my name through the ringing in my ears but I didn't want to look away from his face even as it melted into something inhuman. The sleek, metal handle of my stiletto propping his head to the side toward me as the features glossed and faded.

The hand pulled my face away as the last vestige evaporated into bone and sinew, the pain in my chest almost familiar from ages ago. Cold, dark pine and the sharp smell of a campfire. Sharp syllables of whispers in the frosted air... the weight of bodies holding me down, and the hot blade of the knife with its first cut into flesh. 

If this was what they talked about your life flashing before your eyes, I only hoped the old Mulder was in there somewhere. Too see him one last time.

The face above me was talking, but the words weren't quite reaching my brain. Mulder was talking to me, asking me how and why, and the pain on his face almost matched the one flooding me and I never really considered that it was impossible to reanimate dead flesh...

Skinner hovered behind him, waving and shouting as Doggett crowded into view, the three of them watching me with mixed horror and panic. Mulder - the real Mulder- had his hand on my cheek, still cold from the outside. A stray thought pushed into my brain, that Georgia should have been warmer this late in the season. The peaches can't ripen if it's this cool--

Then it hit me: probably as hard as the bullets that had ripped through my chest and were spilling my blood on the floor below--I recognized those eyes. Even as scared as they seemed, I could see it now. I could feel what I couldn't in the imposter's gaze. 

"How did you know?" He asked again, glancing down at the wounds leaking my life onto his hands. 

I swallowed hard, trying to will the thoughts into words through the pain and the darkness pulling me under.

"It wasn't you..." I croaked, gagging on the flat taste of blood working its way up my throat. "Your eyes- it wasn't, it wasn't there. *We* weren't there."

I could hear Doggett's urging voice rambling on about seeing Mulder on the front porch, and the confusion. He hadn't even had the time to ask how he had come from downstairs before the screams of Scully had carried through the screen door. Mulder had pushed him aside and was on his way through when they heard the shots.

We should have seen it, Skinner was scolding. 

Outside the sun was fading like a slow eclipse, too much like the strength that was ebbing in me now. The darkness was almost at its apex and the slide show behind my eyelids was snapping faster; that wrinkled old man and his neverending cigarettes, cold eyes weighing my answers --the smell of warm bread and bacon wafting through the Dacha on a freezing winter morning and my grandmother's soft singing as she moved about the kitchen. Inky oil as it flooded from my face and onto the slick surface of the craft... 

But Mulder was whispering, so close I could almost hear it above the hammering of my heart trying in vain to keep going. Words of pain and regret, his voice choked and thin. Mulder leaned close, his face wrenched into a grimace of sadness and he pressed his lips to mine. 

As warm as they had been in my memories.

Finally, the eclipse waned in strength and the light burst through the darkness and that strange calm settled over me. I always knew he would be there, when it happened. I had just hoped I would have more time.

I was so wrong.

=================================================

Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines.

  
Archived: June 02, 2001 


End file.
